This hall of mirrors,
this passage of fear.
Distorted twisted visions,
grotesque sounds I hear.
In the corners of my eyes,
my face pulled and stretched.
In my eyes fear stays etched.
My leering face looms
dripping through
the shadows in the gloom,
like my painter had the shakes.
I'm blurred into contorted shapes,
deformed beyond recognition,
just a creepy composition.
I panic, trying to flee,
but the reflections follow me,
In every crooked alley, they peer out.
They don't shout.
They just sneer
through smeared warped lips.
Gurgled laughter reflects
the echoed soundtrack of regrets.
The facade starts to slip,
walls painted red, not with blood drips.
The last mirror not distorted
just shows me,
not a monster to be feared.
Along the pathway I'm led,
the exit lay just ahead.
This hall of mirrors, nothing is real,
everything has been shaped, moulded.
The real me concealed.
I've become scared
of my own reflection,
the manifestation
was bent out of shape.
The creator of these mirrors
trying to distort my true face
into a monstrous state.
Thanks for reading
Please take a look at my new collection "Torn Pages"
100+ all new poems not shared here before.
https://tinyurl.com/KCtornpages
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